


Crawl, Walk, Run

by Xanorder



Category: DBH - Fandom, Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gunshot Wounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-07 14:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17367947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanorder/pseuds/Xanorder
Summary: The line between humans and Androids is blurring. You've got a lot to learn, Connor does too, but you're willing to take your time along the ride; he saved you, after all.





	1. Casualties: You are one

**Author's Note:**

> What difference do two Androids hold?

For the record: when you responded “Shoot” to the operator that dispatched you here, you did not mean it  _literally._

The operator reported a “house disturbance”, someone heard a gunshot. Then a woman called, her husband had been shot and her daughter was being held by her assailant: an Android.

You'd rushed to get there because you knew them.  _The Philips_. It had been stupid, you realised now. It had been sentimental.

Your shirt was ruined. It'd been white –now it was red, white and with a fucking hole in it. You sat on a pool of your own blood. Things blurred in and out of focus, your mind did the same. The shot hadn't been fatal.

Your warnings had gone unheard. He took her from her room and rushed for the terrace, holding a gun. No Android had ever acted like this. You feared for her life. “Drop her, Daniel! Let me help you!” Emma, the girl, screamed and tried to wriggle her hand free as he shot a cop.

You couldn't look at the unmoving body. He was dead when moments ago he'd been talking about what to have for dinner. The officer  _had_  a family. Not now. He was gone.

You ran after him, out to a terrace you'd once been invited to.

The cops followed you no matter how much you warned them, “Stay down, get behind!” One floated on the pool. Another laid between the recliners.

_He_  hadn't warned you, his red light blinked in a quick succession, enough to distract you for a second; Daniel was unstable. You felt the impact almost as you heard it and it burned, scorching as it ripped through your flesh and muscles. Your head knocked on the wall behind as you fell, sliding down on it.

You'd seen fear in his eyes at that moment.  _He hadn't meant to shoot me_. He wasn't as generous with the others; those cops laid there in their own pools of blood, lifeless, staring at the sky as if it held a cure, an answer.

If you had waited for backup…

The answer was that they died because of your stupidity.

C _ourage my ass._ Your wound hurt whenever you breathed. You shut your eyes for a moment, squeezing them until it was pitch black; the noise faded for some reason, too. Your wound, however, pulsed, as painful as before.

W _hat happened to him?_ Daniel had never been aggressive –no Android had.  _There has to be something._

Daniel's gun went off, Emma screamed, and you heard skin rip.  _Again._  “Stay back!” You warned whoever decided it was a good idea to come out. If they were still alive.

“Hi, Daniel.” A man screamed, muffled by the blood pulsing in your ears.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know a lot of things about you. I've come to get you out of this.”

You couldn't see him clearly yet, your head hurt too much to look.

“I need you to trust me,” Your vision started to blur again, “and let me help you.”

Right now  _you_ really needed help.

But you'd had enough of you for a day. Because if only y _ou_  had fucking waited, things might be different.

"What if's" roamed your thoughts. Possibilities, alternate paths. Every single, little, dumb error you had made since going through that door.

“She needs medical attention, Daniel. You can't leave her like this, you knew her!” Your eyelids felt heavy, the darkness comforted you, lulled you “I'm going to help her–”

“No!” Daniel repeated it with less enthusiasm, his gun accentuated his words, “You are not. Leave her alone!”

“Who's going to help her, then, Daniel?” The helicopter's blades blared over their voices. “You were designed to help people, so help her!”

You opened your eyes to look at Daniel.  _Is Emma alright?_  She hung from his arms. He almost twitched.

You noticed the man only when you heard the shuffling of a tie. “I'm Conn–!” The helicopter was too close for you to hear him. That or the blood loss. He folded the tie, Daniel screamed something, the man signaled the helicopter and the noise subsided. He pushed the cloth into your hand, past your ruined clothing and directly over the wound, “Hold it tightly there.”

You blinked.  _I_ _t hurts._

The man examined your face, his hand still held yours. “I need you to trust me.”

You couldn't answer. Your blood had probably been distributed to vital parts, which didn't include the talking part of your brain. This was your final lap, you weren't sure if you'd even see it through the end.

The man stood and walked away from you. A blue triangle glowed back at you. “Android” was written in white letters.  _How ironic._ Killed by one or saved by one. Your chuckle came out as a dry cough and the pain spread across your abdomen.

Either way, you did always love to laugh at yourself.


	2. Feeling Alive: Hopeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're glad to be back, even of things are hectic and Gavin's an ass.

Stitches were required, along with the drugs; it made you feel like a ragdoll. The spinning of the room while you lay on the bed was uncomfortable, but at least you weren't six feet under. The pain reminded you that you were alive.

The hospital was lifeless. Boring. And since standing up from your bed didn't cause anything more than discomfort in your abdomen, you often wandered the halls.

More than once you found yourself looking through the glass and watching the officer that'd been shot –and survived– that day, too. By the time you returned to your room, the memory of his name scribbled on a paper was blurred; only irrelevant words and out of sequence numbers remained. You couldn't remember his name, and you didn't care, not really. You didn't want to get sentimental –not after the Philips.

It wasn't long before you were sent home. It did, however, take longer before Captain Fowler allowed you back on deck.

“We thought you were done, kid.”

Hank pet your shoulder and handed you a coffee. You hadn't realized when he'd gotten here because he rarely showed up; this could only be because of a lack in personnel. Still, you took Hank's words as they were: an awkward,  _Hankes-way_  of saying he was glad you were back. He wasn't good with words. That's why he was a Lieutenant, not a negotiator; why you shouldn't have tried to be one neither.

“I couldn't leave you to handle all the paperwork by yourself,” You took a sip from the coffee, too dark for your taste (didn't say anything, because Hank rarely did anything trivial for himself, much less others), “It'd never get to Fowler.”

“You know how much I hate that shit.”

You hummed. You did hate it too, but he was a Lieutenant, and a great one; you were a Detective.  _Climbing the corporate stairs, or whatever._  You couldn't indulge in Hank's carelessness until another ten years.

The voice came opposite to Hank, “Detective Shooting Target.”

“Detective Static,” You smiled at his furrowed brow, “I hear there's been no progress in your case. How long has it been, three months?”

Gavin's posture stiffened. “At least I haven't been getting shot at,” His brows relaxed and a smirk found place in his smug expression, his body still looked predatory, “And by a fucking piece of plastic.”

You knew, very well since he loved to make it clear, that he hated Androids. One had shot you; another saved you. You were indifferent towards them, for all you cared they could do as they pleased –except when that meant them becoming crazy murders.You didn't need their help. Humans had managed by themselves for centuries, and yet they believed we needed more help and less work, but at the same time, better wages and less unemployment.  _How ironic.*_

“Androids were made by humans… to appeal to humans. It was a matter of time before they became like us.”

Gavin scoffed at your statement, as if you'd lied. He pushed past you. The whine that rose to your throat didn't make it out, your grimace unseen by him.  _Good, that asshole doesn't need another reason to feel like the alpha male._

Hank's stare told you that it hadn't gone unseen by him. His words were monotonous, “I'm gonna kick is ass.” He eyed you up and down, settling on your face with a curt nod. He made a smacking noise with his lips. “Take care of yourself, kid.”

You looked at the holographic calendar in your desk.  _Great_ , you thought,  _it's only Monday._

 

* * *

 

 

Dwelling wasn't something you could do –well, not as much as before.

Personnel wasn't low, in fact, everyone suddenly appeared at the precinct; work, however, blew up. Everybody had something to complain about, a lead, or a supposedly deviant Android. Everybody. It felt like the whole city became a bunch of Gavins: annoying and useless. To his credit, the real Gavin had been nice enough throughout the week, stressed as much as you and all the other cops and detectives.

Except for one, who'd skipped a couple days of work.

You considered telling Fowler that you weren't a babysitter, but the chance to escape DPD's office tempted you over the edge. You'd give him a visit.

  
The small bar had never been your scene, but it was every bit of Hank's. Old looking, stuffy and quiet: so the bar reincarnation of the Lieutenant.

You approached Hank. The stool you sat on wasn't as uncomfortable as it looked. “Fowler wants your ass for dinner,” You glanced at him without turning, both of you looking forward to the other side of the bar, “And I'm the chef.”

“Yeah well,” He swirled his glass, “I don't know how old man tastes like, not sure, either, you want to find out.”

_True._

You ordered a glass of water: one of you had to be sober when he finally decided to leave –God knows when that'll ( _if ever_ ) happen.

It might've been because you were the only sober one –aside from Jim, the bartender, who looked every bit bored–, but you were the only that caught the pull of the door. You watched uninterested as it completely opened. Neon-blue had never bothered you, neither white, black or gray; although your feelings for them at the moment were a whirlwind.

You couldn't recognize his face, not in the least. But the letters were imbedded in your thoughts:  **RK800**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Thanks for reading, your feedback is the most important thing for me as a writer~ Make sure to leave a comment 
> 
> Next chapter: Connor (ahhhh do I need to say more?)
> 
> Mmmmmmm yas. See ya!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> Did you enjoy it? I'd love to get feedback from y'all! What was the best and worst part? Or maybe we can fawn over Connor together (let's definitely do that!).
> 
> The more comments the quicker I'll update, so I'll see you soon.
> 
>  
> 
> (Connor,  
> My boy,  
> Lov u.)


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